


Stories of the Second Self: Pillars of the Community

by John_Steiner



Series: Alter Idem [90]
Category: Urban Fantasy - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:34:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22594864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Steiner/pseuds/John_Steiner
Summary: Though most of Cincinnati is deteriorating by the day, Régine Candelaria's part of town, Fairfax is doing just dandy. Making her fortune in copyright protected spells and multi-level marketing seminars on the craft, Régine seeks to consolidate influence, which includes having her husband on the city council act on her agenda. However, there is one other supernatural influencer Régine needs to negotiate with; the high priest of the Silverton Voodoo Chapter, Papa Delane Henry.
Series: Alter Idem [90]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618813





	Stories of the Second Self: Pillars of the Community

After the full month honeymoon in the Cayman Islands, Régine and her husband returned to Cincinnati. Most of the city was entering turmoil, but Fairfax, often dubbed Fairyfax in the media was largely unscathed as yet. Only, Régine hadn't returned to her old house, oh no.

Having made a killing in contract spell casting, Régine moved on and up into training seminars and tiered marketing magic, where the big money was. Her new home cost twenty times what her already lavish prior house cost, and incorporated Régine's own design instructions.

Quentin came out of a hall that led to Régine's central foyer, and pointed back. "I didn't know you had twelve paid cosplayers on your salary."

"Cosplayers," Régine turned around in her vast living room. "Whatever do you mean?"

Studying her husband, Régine smiled at Quentin who was as powdery white as herself, but with only ten-point antlers to her thirteen. Régine's prestige and personal holdings helped get Quentin elected to the city council, and so he went by her last name even before their marriage was formalized.

Using a wave he might've practiced for a formal dinner party, Quentin invited Régine to follow him to her inner sanctum that was her home office. Inside rose the massive redwood sculpture that Régine forced to grow into an elevated desk and chair with a spiral staircase leading up to it.

Around the circular wall were columns of living rosewood, and in the arches of painted murals were twelve suits of armor that were a combination of medieval and modern. Around the front of each was slung a submachine gun, with a sidearm holstered at the hip, a knife on the opposite thigh, and a sword strapped on their backs.

"Oh, they're not cosplayers," Régine said and approached one to open the visor.

"That's a spell?" Quentin's eyes went wide on seeing the vacant interior of the suit that still shifted subtly in its stance and reaffirmed its hold atop the submachine gun.

"No one understands Personification better than I," Régine proudly boasted, "This is why I didn't hire a security firm for the house or my office building."

"Why all the weapons, though?" Quentin asked waving at the animated armor.

"I suppose it's safe to tell you now," Régine prefaced, and walked up to Quentin to run her delicate finger down his wide Fae nose bridge. "You know that some address me as Mama Candelaria."

"I recall those two characters you let into your office building lobby," Quentin had referred to a pair of rather severe-looking angels with middle class street clothes and leather jackets modified for their light-bending wings.

"It's a formal title of respect," Régine explained, "There is not a layer of this city that practices magic without owing me personally."

"So," Quentin surmised, as he took Régine's hand into his own as though he'd take a knee any moment. "You're not just the high priestess to all Fae in Cincinnati. That explains why the Werewolf Weapons Possession Ordnance passed the council with near unanimity."

Régine toned down the enrapturing expression to one of casual dismissal. "No. That's how many political favors are owed me."

"Care to cast an enchantment right now?" Quentin asked with a mischievous face and excited tone.

"Prepare the bed," Régine instructed and then landed a light taunting kiss on his lips before adding, "I'll be there in a minute."

After Quentin left, Régine stood in the middle of the rather sizeable room and closed the door with a gesture. Then she spun on a cloven hoof. "My guards only move when ordered or if someone uninvited is in the room. So, you may as well come out now."

From behind the massive redwood desk stepped an undead black man with solid obsidian eyes, long gold-capped dreadlocks, expensive suit, and a light sun-shiny charm. "Mama Candelaria, thank you for welcoming me so soon to your new and lovely home."

"Why are you here, Papa Henry," Régine said with exasperation, while her mind thought more blunt words, 'What do you want, Delane?'

"I take it, you heard the news?" Delane asked, and clasped his hands together as if between prayer and offering a deal.

"Fairfax is removed from the disarray spreading throughout the city," Régine stated, as though none could question her certainty.

"You're able to keep more civil unrest at bay, yes," Delane agreed, with a caveat, "However, these latest shootings and bombings. They're not the usual random loners with a Twitter feed of spittle-spraying hate. These are organized militia who see both you and I as an affront to God's work."

"Goddess," Régine corrected, having no tolerance for Abrahamic monotheism. "And we're the fulfillment of her wish. Even you."

Delane paced around to the front of the redwood base and noted the pentacle outline that was not so much carved into the wood as grown. He ran a finger along the star, starting from the top and ending up back there again, while remarking, "Five supernatural castes, each as contrary to the other four as they are to humanity in the center. Peculiarly coincidental, don't you think? It makes me wonder where it all came from."

"You're a Bokor, Papa Henry," Régine reminded, "Shouldn't you have convinced yourself that you already know?"

"Before all else, I'm a simple dungeon master," Delane replied, turning to face her again with his hands clasped together at his belt line. "I used to run D&D campaigns twice a week, even after I made my fortune in real estate."

"You and I both know that wasn't just real estate," Régine said, her brows arcing high with an admonishing expression.

"And it's become even more since then," Delane admitted vaguely, and added, "You know, I found that even souls are real now. Mine included. From what I can tell, people who died before the emergence of magic didn't leave a soul behind."

"You haven't told me what you're doing here," Régine again bid for an answer, and adjusted the creases in her deep blue dress.

"I'm offering my assurances that unrest toward Fairfax will be," Delane paused for effect, "Distracted toward other directions. I can further promise that layers of magical application that you no longer want association with still yield tribute without being traceable. Additionally, I have a sanitation service of a sort, should you be interested."

"The cost?" Régine asked, shaking her head to pry out of whatever he held back.

"The throwing of a few minor political switches here 'n there," Delane started listing, "Nothing so large as to catch a journalistic eye. Maybe even a whispered suggestion to your friends in state government regarding some of the more esoteric regulations. Oh! I would so much love a minor discount for attending a couple of your wonderful and illuminating seminar retreats."

The way Delane's demeanor brightened up like a child walkomh into a toy store made Régine want to gag, but she kept it from showing on her face, as if by a magical Botoxing. However, something nagged at the back of her mind.

"I bet if I went to my desk," Régine's eyes darted upward for a moment, "I'll find this all written up and awaiting my signature-- with copies."

Delane feigned offense, but with a comic air, putting a hand to his chest as if pearls were strung there to be clutched. "I would never! Truly, Mama Candelaria, to dare attempt such strings of blackmail and incrimination is to insult your intelligence and sully your good name. If you believed such, I apologize. Rather, I ask for an informal understanding, never to be recorded."

"It's a deal," Régine replied fast enough to avoid doubts changing her mind. "All of it. Now if you'll excuse me."

"I'll just see myself out," Delane scrunched his face while whispering, as if suddenly a church mouse, and pointed toward the door with a broad grin, "Lovely dress by the way, and your man's lookin' sharp too."


End file.
